


In the Still of the Night

by UlisaBarbic



Series: Durin's Line Endures [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Aftermath, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Durin Family Feels, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Erebor Reclaimed, Family Fluff, Gen, Good King Thorin, Good Uncle Thorin, Post-Battle of Five Armies, dwarf politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 23:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16628342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlisaBarbic/pseuds/UlisaBarbic
Summary: In my "Durin's Line Endures" timeline, Thorin is preparing for the arrival of the Fathers of the other Six Dwarf Families, where they must give their support for Thorin to be able to proceed with a coronation. In the stillness of night, Thorin discusses with Balin the many things he has done wrong but Balin is quick to remind Thorin that he has done so much more right, especially by two slumbering princes.





	In the Still of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> The Hobbit characters are copyrighted to JRR Tolkien and used without permission only for the entertainment of fans. This follows my “Durin Line Endures” plot, an AU of the BOTFA and beyond. There is some reference to my AU of BOTFA which I haven’t yet posted but nothing that should be difficult to follow. Also, I follow the Movie Verse that Balin is a few years older than Thorin as opposed to the Book Verse.

Night was peaceful.

            It seemed an odd thing to be thankful for but the King Under the Mountain was deeply grateful for it. It wasn’t that he minded the sounds of dwarves working; he had grown up to that sound and any dwarf worth his salt was never bothered by the song of Mahal’s people engaging in their craft.

            Now though, with it quiet, he could savor in the majesty of the rock and stone he had grown up knowing as well as he knew his own body. It was like greeting an old friend that one had not seen in years. He remembered their tone, their voice, their smile and it was enlightening to see them once more.

            He still woke some nights or lay in the bed late in the morn, unable to believe that what had come to pass had come to pass. He had seen years go by where Erebor had all but faded from the thoughts of his people, save for a chosen few. He remembered distinctly, not long after Kili had been born, once the boys had been tucked in for the evening, his sister had come to him as he slaved away at the trade agreements to ensure his people would not starve through the winter.

            He had thought that she was coming to shout at him for working late as she usually did but her reasoning had been something else and Thorin’s heart still ached for it.

_The opening of the door, letting the lanterns of the halls flood light into the room that was dimly lit with candles was not entirely unexpected. As much work as he had gotten done, Thorin was fairly certain his little sister watched him nearly as much as she watched her rambunctious boys. It could be frustrating and irritating but he knew she did it with good in her heart._

_Looking up, he set his quill down, observing Dis’ posture in the doorway. She shut the door behind her, which was an oddity. Usually, if she was coming to pry him away from his work, she would leave the door wide open and let any who happened to be wandering the halls hear her ranting at him. If she ranted long enough, Dwalin would always appear from down the corridor, beseeching him “to appease her for tonight, Thorin, Mahal’s sake!”_

_Tonight, he was almost glad for her interruption though. The boys had been quite active this eve and he had to admit, he was tired. The means to provide for his people was small. He had responded to a plea from the Stiffbeards for aid for their ailing women and as such, he was working much longer and harder than before. He did not regret it. While they did not have much to be given, if it was for children or for their women, how could he refuse the request for help from the other families?_

_“Dis, I know the hour is late but-“_

_She walked over, sat down in the chair across from him. Her face, normally so full of spunk and spirit, was downcast. She was beautiful as ever, despite lacking the luxury she should have been given, as a Princess of Durin’s line, but the light in her eyes was significantly dimmed. “I need a moment from you,_ Nadad _.”_

 _The seriousness in her tone was enough that his work was forgotten. He pushed aside the papers that decorated his desk, stretched out his hands and gently clasped her own. “You have it,_ nan'ith.”

            _After a moment’s pause, she clutched his hands tight and said, “I should not be so disturbed by it,_ Nadad _but I am. This night, Fili asked me as I was ushering them into the bath. He asked me if there were truly the baths of steam and salt within Erebor’s belly and yes, I told him. There truly are.”_

 _When she looked up at her brother, while there were no tears in her eyes, there might as well have been with the depth of the pain that was there. “When Fili asked me to describe them,_ Nadad _, I could not. I could not. I am forgetting. The images are fading.”_

 _Thorin’s heart sank but his voice was firm. “You were young,_ Nan’ith _. You have not let them forget their culture, their birthright.”_

 _Dis nodded. “I have tried not to. But, I am starting to send them to you, or to Dwalin or Balin,_ Nadad _. Not because I do not long to speak of it. Not because I do not treasure the memories but because they are fading. I cannot speak of Erebor’s glory because my mind can no longer see it!” There was desperation in her voice. “I do not want you to think that I am unhappy here,_ Nadad. _I am not. You build a strong life for us and my boys grow with food in their bellies and warmth in the winter. I can ask no more than that. The stone here though—“_

 _“It does not answer you.” Thorin supplied simply. “It does not answer you because Durin’s Folk respond to Erebor or_ _ _Khazad__ ** _-_** _ _dûm__ _.” He reached out, stroked the braids in her beard and his eyes softened, “The time will come,_ Nan’ith _when we will go home and the blood in you will feel at peace, once more.”_

 _Much as she dreaded the thought of her brother challenging that dragon, she could not deny that she longed for the older ways, not as much as her brother but she still longed for it. This place, the Blue Mountains, had given her the one who had stolen her heart and given her the two wonderful boys who slept in the next room but it was not home. “_ Nadad _, my home is where family is. Where you are. Where my boys are.” She pushed back her chair and stood._

 _Thorin followed. “_ Nan’ith _, the time will come. The time will come when we will take back what was stolen from us. I promise you, Erebor will be ours once more.” He added, “Your heart and blood will be replenished and your mind’s memories will follow.”_

_Dis, only daughter of Thrain, turned around and after a moment, she left the door and sat by the small fire burning in the corner. “I remember. A fireplace, like this one but grander. Bigger…Father used to tell us stories by the fire.”_

_“As we still do for your little ones. For my_ ruydayûd _.”_

 _She smiled warmly at the affectionate name and said, “_ Nadad _, I know you are tired but I ask you. Help me remember.”_

 _Sitting down next to her, he took her braids in his left hand, gently stroking it. “Always,_ Nan’ith _.”_

            Thorin greatly anticipated when his sister could finally arrive from the Blue Mountains with the coming of spring. He had taken care to locate her old room and had it repaired as best it could be to how it had been before. He had made her a promise, a vow, to help her remember and now, he could finally welcome her back home and not only restore the old but build new memories here.

            Provided the next few days went as well as he hoped.

            Slipping outside amid the balconies, the Dwarf King walked, occasionally taking a puff of his pipe amid the frigid air. The city of Dale lay peacefully in the distance, coated by a light layer of snow.

            Dale…

            Bard had sent word to him that late that evening the six fathers of the Dwarves were seen approaching. They would not bunk in Dale though Bard would have certainly welcomed them. They did not have any reason to trust Men. They were on a specific mission, one that they had been called to as soon as word passed that the Dragon was slain and Thorin and his kin were back in Erebor.

            Tomorrow, he would welcome them into Erebor with joy and celebration. They would trade small talk for as long as was necessary to be socially polite and then they would come to the true meaning of their visit:

            The King Select.

            Heir though he was to Durin and son of Thrain, son of Thror, Thorin still had to win the favor of the Dwarf families to claim his crown, to be deemed worthy to rule Erebor. While the Line of Durin might have authority over the other Dwarf Fathers, that was only after a coronation occurred and the other six Fathers could also deem a son of Durin unfit.

            The Gold Sickness wavered on his mind.

            “A bit late to be brooding, isn’t it, laddie?”

            Without even turning and instead focusing on his pipe as though it contained all the secrets of the universe, Thorin remarked, “I could ask the same of you, Balin.”

            White hair pulled back in his sleeping braids, the old advisor smiled and slid into position next to Thorin, resting his forearms on the lookout. “I seem to have a knack for knowing when you’re brooding. Comes with knowing you as long as I have, I suppose.” Warmth poured out of his eyes and he lay a hand gently on his king’s arm. “You’re worried about tomorrow.”

            “How can I not, Balin?” Thorin’s response was spoken in softness. “You know as well as I that they did not support my quest to begin with, claiming that they would only follow the one who possessed the King’s Jewel and that to risk such to reclaim it was folly.” He turned, smirked without any jollity. “Oh, what a sight it will be when I tell them that not only do I not have it but that I smashed it myself.”

            Nodding at the reminder, Balin inquired without judgement, “Do you regret destroying it?”

            “Only that it took the near-death of Fili by my own blindness to drive me to do it.” Thorin said firmly. “Only that it was not cast away when Juldon presented it to Grandfather. I took great pleasure in shattering it and I will not hesitate to tell them that.” He meant that. The fact that it was Fili’s cries that had finally pierced that shadow of madness was both reassuring and frightening. The fact that he had nearly killed Bilbo, the Hobbit who had been ever loyal to them without any cause to be, the fact he had threatened Dwalin, the dwarf who was his brother in everything but blood—his Akrâgnadad, for Mahal’s sake!—the fact he had been willing to sacrifice his men to the mercy of a Dragon…

            No. It did no good to linger on it now. “I will tell them with pleasure that I smashed it myself.” He repeated again, eyes still on the horizon and the small swirls of smoke that drifted up from his pipe.

            Raising a brow, Balin tapped his beard knowingly. “You worry about when they ask you why.”

            “I’m sure they know.” Thorin said simply. No point in avoiding the question nor the real problem at hand. “Word travels quickly when there is no poison. I’m sure the venomous talk of my Gold Madness has reached their ears.”

            “…aye, it will have.” Balin remarked with a sad nod. “I will not lie to you, laddie.”

            “Good.” Thorin stood up right, “Tell me this then, my old friend. How do I prove myself to a group of old stuff beards who did not even think my Quest worthwhile after I know they have heard of me falling as Grandfather did?” He clenched his fists. “The one thing I swore I would never do…I…” He trailed off. Nothing else needed to be said.

            The older dwarf went quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting out where the remains of a dwarf camp could be seen around the remains of Laketown. “You pulled yourself out of it, Thorin. That is something of note.”

            “Only after so much damage was done…”

            “Damage, yes but it opened your eyes to how dangerous the Arkenstone was. It also let you know how strong YOU are.” Balin’s words left no room for argument and his last statement, said with fire and lightning, made Thorin turn to face him.

            Eyes serious, the elder dwarf intoned.“You are of flesh and blood, Thorin.” Balin reminded him simply. “No King has ever reigned who did not make errors. Your Grandfather, wise as he once was, made numerous ones. He may have recognized them, in his own way, but he never addressed them. He moved on, tried to push them aside, to pretend they never happened.” Balin took hold of Thorin’s shoulder firmly, turning him to look at him straight in the face. “It is a rare one that admits it and seeks to make amends for it. That HAS made amends for it.” He tightened his grip, “You know we support you, laddie. So does Dain and every dwarf that you have given shelter to here. All who learn what you have done are with you.”

            “I treasure your confidence, Balin.” Thorin smiled. “You know politics was always a struggle for me.”

            “Yet you learned well.” The white bearded dwarf smiled with a chuckle, “The flourishment of Ered Luin is proof of that. I don’t doubt that ol’ Firebeard will be the worst of the bunch but when they see you for who you are, there will not be any doubt, just like there is none for me, _Uzabad_.”

            “I wish I had your confidence, Balin but I welcome your support, all the same.” Thorin finished off his pipe with a sigh and stated, “I suppose there is little good in fretting about it though that does not mean my mind will let it rest.”

            Snorting, Balin commented, “You’re never been good at listening, Thorin, even when you know it’s for the best for you. That is the Durin Line stubbornness.” His eyes softened, “But it was also the Durin Line stubbornness that has allowed you to still stand here next to me.”

            “It was also the Durin Line stubbornness that led you all into peril in the first place.” Thorin shook his head. “Forgive me, Balin. I do hear you. I am grateful for your support, your forgiveness. It is not earned, despite my efforts and your opinions, but I am grateful for it, nevertheless.”

            Side by side, they watched the empty sky a moment longer before Balin stated, “Go check on your lads.”

            Shifting, Thorin inquired “Eh? Why? Are they—“

            “They’re fine, as they always are, Thorin.” Balin reassured him. “But I also know that the sight of those boys, if nothing else, may calm your racing mind. You have earned more right to that Throne than any of your ancestors ever have and maybe those boys can remind you of why.” With a firm nod and a lingering smile, Balin took his leave, slipping down the walkway and back into Erebor’s depths.

            The King yet to be Crowned stood there a moment more, considering Balin’s words. He had always put a lot of the weight in the advisor’s words and he did not doubt them now. Sleep was something he could not avoid and if he was to defend his birthright the next day especially against six stubborn dwarf clans, he would surely need to gain as much of it as possible. He couldn’t afford to not be at his best.

            Perhaps checking on his lads before turning in could ease his mind after all.

            It was a bit pampering of him, one could say, but ever since they had come into his lives, there was little that calmed him more than seeing them peaceful and content. As they grew into warriors, he tried to indulge in it less, if only for their sakes and their boyish pride, but he still gave in on occasion.

            Tonight seemed a good eve to do so again.

            Footsteps echoing down the long stone walls of Erebor, Thorin came to Kili’s chambers first and the guards stepped aside quietly. Thorin thanked them with a nod as he slipped in and closed the chamber doors behind him. He remembered all too well these chambers as he had ventured here oh so often, slipping in to check on Frerin deep into the night.

            The dark room was nearly pitch. Kili always liked to have the curtains drawn tight as he could. He liked the closed in, he liked the tight warmth of the bed. He’d always been one to burrow into blankets and quilts as if he were a mole. The winter weather only expanded that custom.

            Gently pulling the curtains open, Thorin glanced inward, his eyes well accustomed to the dark. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips; this kind of sight always had the effect of lightening his heart.

            Kili, as per usual, was turned onto his side, face buried in the many pillows, his face coated in the many tiny hairs that cling to the salvia that always seemed to drip out of his mouth, no matter what he did. Hardly what one would call a regal sleeping position but Thorin had learned a long time ago that just because one was royalty did not mean that they were doomed to be so all the time. Sleep was one of those times.

            Creeping a little closer, noticing one of the fur blankets had been kicked to the ground amid the boy’s restless turning, Thorin knelt, scooping the quilt up and turned back to drape it over his youngest nephew.

            It was then that he noticed the form of Goldfire, clutched tightly in Kili’s arms as if he were a stuffed toy. The wolf pup took note of Thorin’s presence and greeted him with a slight wag of his tail but he made no move to escape his confinement. In fact, the creature simply had a look of odd resignation, turning slightly every so often to supply a lick to the dwarf prince’s cheek. Kili, in response, buried his face deeper into the pillows, nuzzling into the wolf’s fur.

            He had nearly lost this.

            The thought haunted Thorin. The danger the dragon had put his kin in, the risk they had taken in the battle, the wounds that nearly taken them from him amid the icy landscape. He would remember their cries, their shouts of fear, until the day he died.

            He knew that dying and injured dwarves would often call for mercy, despite what tales might say. To hear his youngest crying out for ‘Amad! Amad!’ would never leave his mind. Even when he finally made his way over to him, only to see so much blood and worse still, the purple black of Mordor’s poison coating his eyes.

            The wound had been healed but it still would act up on occasion.

            Closing his eyes, Thorin tried to focus on the present but that moment, that moment when he and Dwalin recognized it for what it was, recognized that what they had thought had been a simple arrow wound had been dipped in orc poison would never leave him:

            _“Stay with me, lad!”_

_So much blood. So much of it. So much of it and there was not a lot of meat to Kili as it was! Losing so much did not bode well for him. Worse still, to lose it while defending him! No, he was the elder, he was the Uncle, he was the parent._

_He was supposed to protect them, not the other way around._

_“Kili, look at me.”_

_Those dark brown eyes, wet with tears, did turn and try to focus though there was so much fear in them, so much mind-numbing fear. “Irak’Da?”_

_Mahal as his witness, when was the last time he had been called that? Kili had used it with him when he had been a little thing, still clinging to his mother’s skirts and tucking his thumb into his mouth for comfort at night._

_“I’m here, my boy.” Thorin’s eyes swept over Kili’s body, trying to take in wounds, take in the damage, the worst of it. There were deep sword wounds though as he looked up and saw Dwalin tending to Fili and Bilbo rushing off with far more speed than a Hobbit should have possessed, screaming for help, he saw the limp form of Bolg lying on the snow, the orc’s body hacked with so many wounds that you could scarcely make out any of his skin. His sister-sons had shown him no mercy._

_The limp form of Azog, not even five feet behind Thorin, painted the ice with dark red blood from the deep gash Thorin had sliced across his throat with the blade his nephews had gifted him so long ago. He had met his end by the Line of Durin._

_Now, despite the wounds that pulsed through Thorin’s body, his sister-sons were far worse off._

_“Irak’Da…” Kili wheezed again, “Fee?”_

_“He lives.” Thorin assured him. “You are both going to be fine,_ _ibinê mim.”_

_Small little hands, at least to Thorin, clutched at the deepest wound on the boy’s stomach and he whimpered, speaking out in Khuzdul, “ <I don’t want to die, Uncle. I don’t want to die.>”_

_“Hush. No talk of that. You are not going to die. Neither of you are going to Mahal’s Halls tonight. Not for a long while.”Thorin took off his outer coat and tossed it to Dwalin who was tending to Fili as best he could and Thorin ripped off his outer tunic, ignoring the deep cold and how the lack of compression made his own wounds bleed worse. It mattered not right now. “Shh, it’s alright.” Putting as much pressure on the boy’s deeper wounds as he could, Thorin set his eyes on his nephew’s. “Hear me, Kili, you’re not going to die.” He added, though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I promise, my boy. You’re not going to die. Do…do you trust Irak’Adad?”_

_What kind of a question…after all this—_

_The youngest Durin boy nodded firmly. “I trust you, ‘Rak’Da.”Kili closed his eyes a moment but then quickly opened them again, reaching out a hand for his brother as Dwalin brought him over. While he normally would have loathed moving him, as injured as he was, everyone knew if the brothers were close, their chances were better. As soon as Fili was in reach, Kili clung to his hand._

_It was Dwalin that noticed it first and spoke to Thorin harshly in sharp Khuzdul, “ <There’s black poison in his eyes.>”_

_Poison…black poison…but what…_

_Setting his sights on Kili, having to stop himself from pulling Fili into his lap so he could look at both at once, Thorin’s heart stopped cold._

_Purple black tendrils, though small and shallow, arched from his youngest’s eyes._

_Orc blades while filthy were not routinely dipped in toxin. It never lasted long enough to have an effect. Daggers were sometimes a culprit but all the wounds on his nephews were from longer blades, spears, arrows…_

_Arrows._

_That arrow._

_Almost without thinking, Thorin was ripping open the pant leg of his nephew, pushing the armor up and away. He could smell the orc poison before he saw it and when he did, it took all his willpower not to curse and scream._

_Dark black the bandages had turned, seeping an oozing dark puss, even with the administrations they had given. It had seemed just a simple arrow wound, nothing more, nothing less. He had noticed Kili leaning more on his brother as they approached Erebor but by the time they entered he…_

_He had been so lost to greed that he had not noticed much of anything._

_“Mahal…” he murmured._

_Kili, despite himself, offered, “Not so bad, Uncle. It’s not…bad. It’s…” He trailed off because it was very evident now that yes, it was that bad and it did hurt and it was causing so much agony that adrenaline was trying to keep at bay. “It’s…fine.”_

_“Stop lying to me.” Thorin demanded, telling himself that no, no, he was not going to lose his nephews. Not either of them. Not from the blood they were leaving on the ground, not from sickness, not from illness and not from poison. He would not._

_He could not._

_Elves._

_They could tend Mordor Poison._

_Refusing Thranduil those gems, refusing to part with any of the treasure hoard, refusing to hold to his word. It mattered not that it had been a coerced ord. He had still given it. Now, all this war…_

_Had he burnt the only bridge he had to save his sister-sons?_

_Thranduil. His healers, his…_

_He would re-build that bridge with his bare hands._

            Shaking his head, Thorin approached and pulled the fur quilt tight around Kili’s shoulders. The boy instantly turned into it, squirming into a tighter ball. Goldfire let him settle then fidgeted a little himself before resigning back to his position of comfort toy.

            Reaching over, Thorin gently pushed some of the hairs from Kili’s face and as always,

the boy did not even stir. Warrior though he might have been, he slept like a rock. Not exactly the best fighter instincts but the Dwarf King could not be mad for it. It let him keep that illusion of innocence.

            That innocence that he had given of to restore Erebor.

            “I trust you, ‘Rak’Da.”

            After it all, after everything he did, his youngest sister-son had not even hesitated when he told him that he trusted him. Even knowing how he had fallen to the Gold Sickness, knowing how he had fallen the same way his grandfather had…

            His nephews were too good for him.

            Thorin lay a hand on Kili’s head a moment, savoring in the closeness, taking deep comfort that through it all, despite his mistakes, his sister-sons were still very much alive. His errors had been many and they had been grievous but he still had this, these two treasures. By the grace of Mahal…

            Withdrawing softly, he pulled the curtains shut again and slipped into the connecting room that led to Fili’s chambers.

The curtains around the bed were only halfway drawn, as was Fili’s way. He stated he liked being able to see about him and only pulled them tight enough to block the light from the crystal walls. It was the sleep of a warrior and much as it pained him that his heir had been forced to adopt such habits so early, it was also a source of pride that he had learned so well.

            As Thorin approached, he made out a slick dark shape, darting back and forth in front of the bed. It would just barely crawl into his view before slipping once more away. Pulling the curtain aside, just slightly, he barely made out a pair of eyes and bared white teeth in the dark of the chamber. Low growls emerged from the shadow that took on the form of Shadow, perched in front of Fili’s sleeping form, haunches raised, teeth bared in warning.

            “It’s me, Shadow.” Thorin spoke softly and approached, extending his hand, letting the wolf pup get a whiff of his scent.

            The creature approached, sniffed, appeared satisfied, before bouncing back up on the bed, curling into a ball at the foot and laying down once more. Giving the creature a grateful smile for his protective instincts, Thorin crossed to the head of the bed.

            Fili was curled on his side, face half turned into his pillow. While most of his braids were out and beads on the tableside, he noticed that the main two by his face were not. He should not have been surprised. Ever since he had noticed the one on his left missing, he had been determined to not lose the other. Utterly distraught over the loss of the first, Thorin couldn’t deny him that small amount of reassurance.

            He looked so small, so young when he slept. Thorin had seen the warrior he was, the relentless fighter that carried Durin’s name so well, so strong. Yet here, now, he was that young dwarfling again who insisted upon having a lantern lit ‘so Kili doesn’t get scared.’

            That young face, having seen so much, formed into a light grimace as the horrors of the dark took hold in his mind.

            Horrors _he_ had caused.

            Reaching out a hand, Thorin stroked the boy’s braids lightly. For all the peace that Erebor now enjoyed, in the still of the night, his mind always went back to that battle. The fight against Smaug. When the dragon had awoke. When the Company had scattered through the ruins of Erebor, fighting to stay alive amid the roasting air. When his Gold Sickness had made him forget who he was, forgot what mattered. “Nearly lost this…I nearly lost this…nearly lost your brother, nearly lost you…”

_It was hot, hotter than the inside of the forge, he was certain. Yet, it mattered not. The approaching dragon, his destruction. That mattered not. All that mattered was the Arkenstone. He could see it. The foolish dragon had let his traitorous burglar take it and he'd lost it amid his scramble to survive, begging him to leave. All of them begging him to run, to hide, to regroup, even as they ran and scrambled. Even as Dwalin, his most loyal servant had thrown Kili over his shoulder and dashed for cover when the youngest tried to run back._

_They did not even look at him, they were not even worthy to look at his face!_

_All of them were unworthy to stand by his side! Cowardly fools...to abandon the treasure trove of Thror...to abandon Erebor to this beast. No, he was Thorin, King Under the Mountain and he would not...run...nor hide. He would not let that creature take a single coin._

_Yes, he could just about reach it. It teetered on the edge of the walkway, high above the mines but he was close. It was calling to him. Full of all the colors of every gem of the rock that his blood commanded. It was his...his own...his precious..._

_"Irak'Adad! Help me! Please!"_

_Precious..._

_"Irak'Adad! Please!!"_

_Gold...golden hair. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Brown eyes. A muffled laugh, a childish giggle. Tiny but strong arms around his leg, demanding 'up, up, Irak'Adad!'_

_Precious..._

_'Fell down,' a tearful plea and pointing to a cut on the arm, 'But I didn't cry, Irak'Adad.' A small head of brown hair grinning and nodding in agreement. “No cry, ‘Rak’Da!”_

_Precious._

_'Think I'll be strong as you one day, Irak'Adad?'_

_‘Me too, me too!’_

_Precious..._

_'Kisses, Irak'Adad. Right here!' A chubby hand gesturing to a small cheek._

_Precious..._

_"Fili?" Thorin turned and the Arkenstone's pleading fell on deaf ears. There, not five feet away, he could see the very fingertips of his eldest sister-son, barely clinging to the crumbling walkway. "Fili!"_

_Thorin..._

_It called his name, the Arkenstone. It was calling to him._

_"Irak'Adad!”_

_Fili's grip was failing. He had already lost his grip on the ledge itself and was now clinging to the underbridge, as well as he could with burned and sweaty fingers. He tried not to look below him but it was hard. He knew that from a height like this...onto those old broken metal beams, mining carts, gems..._

_He’d seen Dwalin whisk Kili away, begged them to run. Thorin was there, though whether he was there or not. That look in his eyes…that was not the Uncle he knew, not the parental figure that he had known his whole life._

_Yet, he called still._

_"Irak'Adad..."_

_His grip slipped._

_He fell. Away from the solidity of the rock, from the sanctuary where his brother called for him even with the rampaging dragon not even a wingspan away, fire coating the air like rain._

_A strong grip, firm as stone clasped around his left upper arm. Amid his scream, he looked up, tears in his eyes._

_"I've got you, targ mim."_

_"Irak'Adad..." Fili whimpered, slightly, as Thorin pulled him up, settling him on his back. He was ashamed to admit it but he trembled and clutched the form of his uncle like it would fade away under his touch. “’ra ‘Da” he muttered into Thorin’s long hair._

_“I’ve got you, my boy. I’ve got you.”_

Closing his eyes tightly, Thorin cursed himself, as he had for every night since that battle. He had been so lost, so lost amid the gold-lust that he had nearly let his first-born, his heir, slip away to death, mere feet from him. If he had been a moment later, the dragon fire would have caught him in his downward fall. If not the fire, then the sharp metal would have pierced him.

He almost lost him.

Yet he was here. As Balin said, he had broken himself out of the spell. He had done what his grandfather, surrounded by family and kingdom, had been unable to do. He had snapped out of his Gold Sickness, had cursed the Arkenstone in every language he knew. Had clung tight to his nephew as soon as they managed to solid ground. Had accepted Kili into his other arm as soon as he had rushed him.

Did that make him worthy of the crown? Breaking out of the spell because of the call of his kin? Did it mean he would not fall prey to it again? Did it mean that everything he strove to do after he knew himself again mattered less?

Eyes warm, Thorin allowed one hand to stroke his eldest's cheek. “Everything I did, I did for you. For you and your brother.”

He had. While yes, he longed for his home again, longed to take back what was stolen, his purpose had always been to give his nephews what was rightly theirs. To grant them what they deserved, to give them what they were meant to have.

Fili’s breaths out scattered a few loose hairs about his face and Thorin gently tucked them back. The boy leaned into his touch, just slightly, subconsciously.

“After it all, you still trust me too, do you?”

Fili did not answer but he did move, ever so slightly, closer to Thorin’s touch, relaxing a bit at the soft caress to his hair. The slight fear that had decorated his face when Thorin first entered slipped away into the night.

His two boys still thought him worthy of the throne, still worthy of the leadership, still worthy of their trust. After everything they had seen him do, had seen him fall, they only remembered that he rose again. They only focused on the fact that he found himself again, found who he truly was again: Thorin II Oakenshield, brother of Dis, Uncle of Fili and Kili and a King who could only do the best he could for his people, with the best of intentions.

Perhaps that was enough.

  


           

 

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Irak'Adad: Uncle, lit. Side Father  
> Nadad: Brother  
> Nan'ith: Little Sister  
> Ruydayûd: Tiny Heirs, diminutive/affectionate term  
> Akrâgnadad: Honor Brother--a male considered family but not necessarily linked by blood  
> Uzabad: King  
> Amad: Mother  
> Ibinê mim: My little gem  
> Targ mim: Little Beard/Beardling


End file.
